


Our Ungodly Hour

by fleurdelisee



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdelisee/pseuds/fleurdelisee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Baratheon is the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, but after spending ten years as a ward to the Starks in Winterfell, going back to King's Landing is the last thing he wants to do. At least, he gets to bring his best-friend-turned-lover with him. Blaine's presence will hopefully make the dreary life of a prince more bearable, especially when treason strikes. Game of Thrones!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, not a crossover. I kept the names of the major Houses to situate the story within the GoT world, but secondary characters kept their own names for the sake of clarity. You do not need to know what GoT is to appreciate this. I am not referencing the canon overtly so it could be a nice little medieval AU. Knowing GoT just adds another level. It's kind of like fic-ception;
> 
> There will be a character death in a coming chapter. If this is something that has the potential to upset you, you might want to think twice before getting into this story. I promise it won't be gratuitous and I will put up a warning;
> 
> It might get violent. This is a sorta-medieval AU. There might be blood. Again, I will warn;
> 
> While I stay away from the original plot of GoT in this story, I need you all to know that I am still only at the second novel of the series and if you spoil me in any way, my vengeance will be cruel and unexpected.

“I don’t want to go.”

Kurt knew he had said the wrong thing the second the words left his mouth. His father let out a long sigh and then crouched down to look him in the eyes, the wrinkles lining them deepening. The wrinkles meant his father was upset about something, and it made Kurt upset.

“And I don’t want you to go either, Kurt, but it’s for your own good.”

Kurt shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did I do something wrong?” He felt his chin quivering as his throat tightened and tears filled his eyes. He was so tired of crying, but it was all he seemed to be able to do since his mother had died.

“No, of course not. But a royal court is not a place for a little boy. You will be much happier in Winterfell.”

“No, I won’t.” Kurt sniffled and wiped his eyes angrily. Stupid tears. Only babies cried. He was seven years old, almost a man-grown, and the only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. “It’s far and cold and there’s nothing to do there.”

“How do you know that?”

Kurt frowned because his father was smirking. This was not amusing. “Because everyone makes fun of the north. There’s only wolves and snow there. I don’t like the cold. If you want to send me away, I could go to Highgarden. It’s always sunny there and I’m half-Tyrell. They’re family.”

His father rolled his eyes fondly and brushed his hair back, planting a kiss on his forehead before straightening up. “Lord Stark has boys your age. You will have a real childhood, Kurt, not one where your playmates are members of the royal council. This is my final word.”

He put on his King Burt face, then, and Kurt knew he had lost. It was the face he used when he had to take a Very Serious Decision that did not make him happy, but one that duty and honour had dictated. Unlike with his other King Burt face, the one he used when he was faced with something that made him sad and he needed to act like a father with the people requesting his help, Kurt knew that this face meant he was going to be a ward of the Starks whether he liked it or not.

It took them nearly fifty days to reach Winterfell. His father had sent an escort of twenty riders, half of them lords and knights from his bannermen and the other half members of the Kingsguard. On good days, when the weather was nice and he was in a good mood, Kurt rode on the horse he was given as a departure present, but most of the time he preferred to travel in the caravan, where he could sulk in peace, away from the resentful glances of his escort. He knew they all thought him a spoiled brat, but he did not care. He did not want to go to Winterfell and he was going to make sure everyone knew it.

Kurt did not cry as Winterfell appeared on the horizon and he felt his stomach drop. He did not cry when they crossed the moat and entered the inner courtyard, where the Starks were waiting for them. He did not cry when he saw Lord Stark’s long, hard face where it was obvious smiles did not appear often. He did not cry when he stepped off his horse and slipped on the mud, nearly falling over before someone caught and steadied him. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Stark greeted him, and soon after the entire courtyard was bending the knee before him, right there in the mud, and Kurt did not cry even though he was embarrassed that they were acting this way.

He swallowed thickly and remembered how his father reacted to such greetings. “Rise,” he said, and he did not cry even though his voice sounded so small. “Lord Stark, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am grateful that you accepted to take me as your ward.”

“The honour his ours, Your Grace. You must be exhausted from the long travel. My wife will take you to your room if you want to freshen up before the evening meal. We will send someone for you when it is ready.”

Kurt followed Lady Stark across the yard, glancing only briefly at the row of children standing in front of Lord Stark. He met the eyes of a boy around his age and the boy smiled goofily, his eyes nearly disappearing as he did so, which Kurt considered quite an accomplishment since they seemed to take more than half of his face. Kurt blushed and looked away, stumbling over his own feet and nearly falling as he slipped on the mud once more.

“This way, Your Grace,” she said in a soft voice and Kurt forced a smile when she looked at him.

“You can call me Kurt, m’lady.”

“As it pleases you, Kurt.” She smiled at him and then gently pushed him forward with a hand on his back.

It was pleasantly warm inside the castle and Kurt was grateful for that. He had had to add furs nearly every day as they rode north and he had been afraid he would spend the next years of his life constantly freezing. The walls seemed to radiate heat and when he grazed his hands against the rough stone, he was surprised to find it lukewarm. 

He followed Lady Stark up a winding staircase and nearly bumped into her as she stopped in front of a door about halfway up the stairs. “This is your bedchambers, Kurt. If you need anything, you need only ask. Do you wish to take a bath?” Kurt nodded and she smiled again. “I will have water warmed up for you. Someone will carry your luggage up soon enough, so you can change from your travel clothes.”

Kurt thanked her and pushed open the door, peering in briefly before she spoke again. 

“We’re happy to have you here, Kurt. This is your home, now, and you are one of my sons.”

She leaned down and kissed his forehead before starting down the stairs and Kurt barely made it into his bedchambers before he started crying, sobs shaking his small body as all the distress he kept bottled up since he left King’s Landing - gods, probably since his mother died - took over his composure. He was not even sure why he was crying, but he did not seem to be able to stop. Everything was too much and it was happening all at once, and he wished he could hide under his bed back home and stay there until things stopped being scary.

He stayed in the bath as the water turned cold, scrubbing at his skin until it turned pink trying to rid himself of all the dust stuck in his pores. Dry and dressed in the warmest clothes he owned, Kurt sat on his bed and looked around, feeling another wave of sadness and despair washing over him as he took in the bare stone walls and low-hanging ceilings. The chamber was dark and gloomy, barely lighted up by the fire burning in the hearth and the large window opening on the godswood. He fell silly wearing his black and yellow velvets, especially as he remembered that the Starks had been dressed in plain gray wool and boiled leather. Everything he had ever known seemed silly, in this place. All the manners and pleasantries that had shaped his daily life in King’s Landing felt out of place.

They said they would send for him when it was time to eat, but he did not know if he was allowed out of his room before. He did not even know where he would go, if he left, or whom he would talk to. He felt alone and small, insignificant, in this big castle in the middle of a thick forest. He would have given everything to be back in King’s Landing, to walk amongst the sunny halls of the Red Keep and visit the maester in his tower, who would greet him with a sweet and would have an interesting fact of history to tell him, which he would absorb as he sat on the maester’s table and listened with intent. He would wager that the maester here would only know about plants and snow, or other useless things like that.

They sent for him just as Kurt was starting to despair that they had forgotten he was there, and he followed the maidservant through the castle, trying to memorize the way so he could get back to his bedchambers on his own.

The great hall was not all that great, and with his escort and the Starks’ household, it was crowded and noisy compared to that of the Red Keep. He was called over to the dais after an embarrassing introduction where everyone once again kneeled until he shyly sat to Lord Stark’s right, feeling out of place and ridiculous and ashamed as one of the Stark kids nodded his head in his direction before laughing. 

The food was good, although it lacked the variety fruits for it to be to Kurt’s liking, and he was even allowed a small cup of spiced wine. It warmed him up inside as the first sip went down and he drained his cup quickly, relishing the taste of nutmeg and cinnamon. Lord Stark tried to talk to him a few times and Kurt always answered politely, but he was only seven years old and he could not understand how a lord could hope to have a real conversation with him. Lady Stark kept looking at him with an apologetic smile and one time, when she caught him looking back, she sighed.

“I’m sorry you have to sit with us,” she said. “It is only for the night, to greet you properly and introduce you to everyone. On the morrow, you can sit with my children.” 

“Thank you, m’lady,” he said before turning back to his plate, pushing what was left with his fork.

Before sweets were brought in, the little boy from the courtyard walked up to the table and smiled at his father. “Can the prince come sit with us, now?”

“Only if he wants to.” Lord Stark turned his attention to Kurt. “Your Grace?”

Kurt eyed the boy, whose smile broadened, and he shook his head. He could not shake the memory of the one who had laughed at him. “May I be excused? The travel has tired me and I wish to sleep,” he asked. Kurt fled the hall as soon as he was given permission to leave.

Later that night, Kurt heard footsteps outside his bedchambers and he pulled the heavy covers down from over his head, sitting up to greet his visitors. The steps did not stop by his door, but he overheard the conversation.  
“--do something wrong?” It sounded like the courtyard boy.

“No, Blaine. The prince only needs time to adapt to this new place. This must be really scary for him, don’t you think? He’s away from everyone he knows. Give him a few days. Imagine if you were--”

The voices faded away and Kurt huddled under the covers once more, crying when he heard wolves howling in the distance.

The next day and the few that followed, he stayed locked in his bedchambers. He could hear the children playing outside and more than once, there was a knock at this door, but he ignored it. He was feeling too shy to come out, he was aware that he stood out and he hated it, so it was easier to stay alone. He always did everything alone, he kept telling himself, this was no different than life back home. Just because there were people to play with did not mean he had to. He was a prince. No one could force him to do anything.

It took him four days to gather the courage to leave his bedchambers outside of meals, and only because loneliness was driving him mad. He could hear the sound of laughter and screams as he approached the courtyard and he sped his pace. He was tired of being alone all the time and there was that one boy who always smiled at him even if he refused to talk to any of them as they ate. He knew it was ungrateful of him, but he could not help it. Whenever he tried to open his mouth, his throat would tighten up and he had to shove a lot of food in his mouth so he did not cry.

He was momentarily blinded as he stepped out in the courtyard, the sun bright and warm on his skin. Before he could look around to try and see if he could find the boy and introduce himself, he felt a push to his shoulder and whipped around in time to see him running away, shouting “you’re it!” over his shoulder.

Kurt stood motionless, blinking at the boy. One of the other Stark kids walked over to him and rolled his eyes.

“Blaine, His Grace does not know how to play.” Looking at Kurt, he sighed. “I’m Cooper.”

“Kurt,” Kurt said, and the boy took a bow, and Kurt nearly ran away at that, but the other boy - Blaine - ran towards them.

“Coop! Be nice! Hi, I’m Blaine. This is my older brother. He’s the first son and he thinks he’s already the lord of Winterfell.” Their eyes met and Kurt felt a blush creep up his cheeks. “I’m Blaine,” the boy said again.

“You already said. I’m Kurt.”

They shook hands as Blaine blushed before talking again. “The game is that if the person who is ‘it’ touches you, you become ‘it’ and you have to run after the others to catch them and make them ‘it’. I will give you a chance because you didn’t know how to play, but now you have to run, Your Grace,” he said excitedly.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” Blaine blinked at Kurt, eyes wide and questioning.

“Don’t call me Your Grace. Just Kurt. Please.”

“As it pleases Your--sorry. Kurt.”

And then he pushed Kurt’s arm again, said “you’re it!” with a mischievous grin, and ran away. A glance to Cooper sent him running, as well, and then Kurt started chasing after them, laughing for the first time in months as Cooper ran into the kennelmaster and sent the both of them tumbling in the mud.

\---  
The sword swished through the air and hit his arm, drawing a pained cry from Kurt. He glared at the master-at-arms, who hit him again with the flat of the blade.

“You are not paying attention, boy,” he snapped. “One more time.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and lifted his sword, stepping into position. His attention drifted to where Blaine was practicing with his brother and he sighed angrily when the master-at-arms hit him once more. He was sure to have a bruise.

“If am I boring you, you only have to say, Kurt.”

Kurt ripped his eyes away from watching Blaine and the way his curls stuck to his sweat-dampened forehead or how the muscles shifted in his back as he swung his sword, holding his grounds against his older brother and making him back up by delivering a series of rapid blows, to look at the burly man.

“You don’t have to hit me.”

“Your enemies won’t wait for you to be attentive. I don’t know what’s so captivating, but if you don’t try a little harder, next time we are not using blunted swords and it’ll be your fault if you lose your arm.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said sheepishly, getting back into position once more.

His attention lasted only a few minutes, until Blaine stopped fighting and looked at him, grinning when he caught Kurt’s eyes. Kurt smiled back and it was all it took for the master-at-arms to let out an angry groan and walk away, muttering about how much he hated wasting his time as he went.

“What’s taken you today, Your Grace?” Blaine teased, laughing when Kurt rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to concentrate and now I’m afraid he will kill me in my sleep.”

“I would not rule it out.” Their eyes met and Blaine’s straight face melted, replaced by a goofy grin that Kurt returned. They both blushed when the seconds stretched and Blaine looked away quickly, clearing his throat. “Want to practise with me?”

“No,” Kurt replied too hurriedly. This was such a bad idea, he would get himself killed watching Blaine. “I’m tired.”

“As it pleases Your Grace,” Blaine said, curtsying.

“Stop it, you know I hate when you call me that.”

“Which is why I do it as often as I can.”

Kurt glared at Blaine until the other boy laughed. “Come, I want to walk with you.”

The godswood was quiet as they walked, but Kurt’s mind was loud. He stayed a few paces behind Blaine and his direwolf, trying to keep the storm raging in his head bottled in.

The problem was simple: he could not stop thinking about Blaine. From the moment he woke to when he went to sleep, Blaine was occupying all of his thoughts. Even those, the ones that made him squirm and wriggle beneath his covers. It had been this way from as long as he could remember, his childhood playmate turning into his only confident as they grew older until it felt like half of his soul belonged to Blaine.

And it all became worse after they kissed.

It was after a feast with a few of the Starks bannermen. The great hall had been crowded and full of loud conversations and songs, and no one paid attention to them so they drank cup after cup of wine, getting cheerier by the hour, until they only had to share a glance before bursting into fits of giggles they had to stifle with their hands.

The temperature in the room got unbearable after a few hours and they stumbled out, tripping their way upstairs until they shut the door of Blaine’s bedchambers behind them, grinning at each other before they slumped on the bed, lying side to side.

“I am drunk,” Blaine announced before letting out high-pitched giggles and turning on his side to bury his face against Kurt’s shoulder. “I love you, Your G--Kurt. Your Kurt.” And he giggled again.

Kurt’s heart lurched in his chest and his head spun, and all he could do was lie as still as he could while Blaine snuggled into his side and said words that made no sense at all, but would mean so much if they did. “You are drunk, Blaine. Stop talking, you are not making any sense.”

“No, I am making sense. I mean it. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt said thickly. “You are my best friend.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Blaine pushed himself up on an elbow and looked at Kurt with big, earnest eyes in which the roaring fire in the hearth was reflected. It looked as though the flames lived inside Blaine’s eyes. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice softer than Kurt had ever heard it. “You are so beautiful.” He reached down and stroked Kurt’s cheek, who leaned into the touch and shut his eyes tightly, praying to the old gods and the new that Blaine meant what he had said.

Blaine’s lips were dry when they pressed against Kurt’s and he felt on his cheek the shaky breath Blaine let out through his nose. Kurt kissed back and the two of them sprung apart at once, sitting at opposite ends of the bed and staring at each other with wide eyes.

“I--” Kurt began, stopping abruptly when Blaine shook his head.

Kurt left the room after that, and they never spoke of it again. Their relationship returned to normal and two days later, Kurt was going insane trying to figure out what was going on. 

Blaine kept going deeper into the woods, glancing over his shoulder from time to time to see if Kurt was following. The ground sloped under their feet and Kurt sped up to catch up with Blaine, silently sitting next to him when he climbed on a rock outcrop. 

Silence stretched and Kurt fidgeted uncomfortably. It was the first time they would be alone since they kissed and Kurt was not surprised to find that he was terrified. Everything could change if things went right, but if they did not, he might have to flee to King’s Landing in the dead of night to survive, or throw himself to the wolves in a fit of shame and despair. Shame at himself for having believed this could have meant anything, and despair because of the heartbreak. 

“Are you never going to mention it again?”

Kurt blinked at Blaine and he felt his stomach knotting. This was it. “I was waiting for you to do it.”

Blaine huffed and leaned back on his hands, closing his eyes against the sun peeking through the leaves. “I am going to assume you don’t hate me for what I did since you are still talking to me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Kurt snapped. Was Blaine really that blind? 

Blaine turned his head his way, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But?”

“There is no ‘but’. I don’t regret what we did.” There it was, his emotions laid out in the open. It was up to Blaine to understand what Kurt was trying to say because he did not think he would be able to make himself clearer. He took a deep breath. “I hate that we had to stop.”

“You mean--” Blaine was kissing him again before he could finish his own sentence, one hand holding the side of his head and the other gripping his arm, and Kurt whined through his nose as he pulled Blaine closer with his hands splayed on his back.

Remembering what Blaine had said that night, Kurt broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Blaine’s, smiling when he stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. “I am your Kurt. Forever.”

\---

Kurt was running, his feet finding safe footing on their own through the undergrowth and roots covering the ground of the godswood. He felt like he was flying, the cold autumn wind whipping his face and reddening his cheeks as he moved through the trees with practised ease. When he spotted him, Kurt sped up and in one quick movement, he tackled Blaine to the ground, laughing as he let out a pained huff.

“You’re it,” Kurt said cheekily, reaching down to brush dead leaves from Blaine’s hair after he sat back on his haunches, straddling Blaine’s thighs.

“I swear you run faster than Snow.”

Kurt glanced at the direwolf standing a short distance from them, sniffing the air and panting after running along with them. “No, Snowflake is still faster than me.”

“Don’t call him that! It’s a stupid name.” Blaine pouted and Kurt patted his cheek.

“And I told you as much when you got him, but did you listen? Of course not.”

Blaine huffed and pulled Kurt down with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss him. “You’re in a really good mood, Your Grace.”

“I can’t always sulk, it’s too predictable.”

Blaine grinned and pulled Kurt down again, wrapping his arms around his neck as he kissed him slowly, sucking on his top lip before pulling away and resting their foreheads together. 

“We’re supposed to be praying,” Blaine muttered, tilting his chin up to kiss Kurt again.

“I keep the new gods, silly. I only came here to take a quiet walk. You’re the one failing his duty.”

“Mm, ask me later if it bothers me.” Blaine rolled them around and hovered over Kurt, his weight resting on his arms. “Because right now, I have more important things to do.”

“Such as?”

“Pay appropriate respects to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes. Blaine settled down, resting his head on Kurt’s chest. Kurt fingers tangled through Blaine’s messy curls and he scratched his scalp, smiling when Blaine let out a content hum. 

“‘You’re it’?” Blaine asked after a while, lifting his head and looking at Kurt with sleep-heavy eyes. There was no faster way to put Blaine to sleep than to play with his hair.

“It’s the first thing you ever told me, remember?”

Blaine nodded and nuzzled his cheek against the wool of Kurt’s tunic. “I was so infatuated, even back then.”

Kurt tugged lightly on his curls, humming his approval. He had been, too, and the two of them fumbled through their budding love until they were old enough to understand it.

They stayed tangled together for a long time, the warmth of the other’s body enough to make it comfortable. Moments alone together did not come often and they had learned to make the most of them. They only moved when Snow snarled, restlessly pacing back and forth.

“Someone’s coming,” Blaine said sadly, slowly pushing himself off Kurt and up. 

By the time they were done brushing their clothes clean, a stable boy appeared from through the trees. His eyes travelled between the two of them, but he spoke as if he had noticed nothing.

“A raven has arrived. From King’s Landing.”

Kurt’s blood turned cold and he felt something heavy settle in his stomach. “Did something happen to my father?”

“No, m’lo--Your Grace. You better come read it yourself.”

Kurt watched the boy go before he turned to Blaine, who was looking at him with worry etched all over his face. “You don’t think--”

Kurt shrugged and started towards the castle, Blaine following a few paces behind after calling for Snow to follow him. Kurt feared the worst. He had been worried his father would call him back to King’s Landing every day since he and Blaine confessed their love for each other, and every raven arriving to the castle sent shivers down his spine. He would rather not think what it would mean if he had to leave for the south.

The dim light of the maester’s chambers forced Kurt to be cautious as he entered, making sure he did not hit his head or walk into anything while his eyes adjusted. 

“Here is the letter,” the man said, handing Kurt a rolled piece of parchment. The seal was broken, but he recognized it to be his father’s.

After reading it, he handed it back to the maester in silence. A bone-deep weariness took over him and he sighed, forcing a smile when the maester looked at him knowingly.

“Has Lord Stark been told?”

“Not yet, Your Grace.” Kurt flinched at the words. Already, Kurt the Ward was fading away, replaced by Prince Kurt. He knew it would not take long for the news to spread through the castle and for people to start treating him differently. He would no longer be one of them.

“I will deliver the letter myself.”

“As it pleases Your Grace,” the maester said and Kurt sighed again, pocketing the letter before leaving the office and wandering back to the courtyard where he had left Blaine and Snow.

Blaine was sitting on a bail of hay, discussing with a pot boy, his laughter carrying across the busy yard and lifting Kurt’s spirits, if only a little. When he saw Kurt approaching, he excused himself and made his way towards him, his smile fading the closer he got. Kurt nodded and bit his lip.

“Is it so? Tell me it isn’t, Kurt.”

“My father summoned me back. I’m to leave in a fortnight, an escort is on its way.”

Blaine pressed his lips together and looked away and up above the outer walls to the cloudless sky. When he looked back at Kurt, his eyes were shining with tears. The urge to hold Blaine close and comfort him was so strong that Kurt had to dig his nails into his hands to resist it.

“I need a moment alone, if you do not mind,” Blaine said, at last. “I will see you later.”

With a nod, Kurt watched him go towards the godswood, Snow on his heels, his tail wagging rapidly with worry for his master, Kurt knew. Blaine and the direwolf’s emotions were mirrored, it often seemed.

He did not reappear until they all gathered in the great hall for the evening meal. Kurt had no time to miss him; arrangements had to be made with Lord Stark. Some sons of bannermen would be sent south to join the Gold Cloaks and ravens had to be sent to tell the lords. Kurt jested that it was a good thing none of the Stark daughters were old enough to marry him, otherwise he would have had to bring one of them south as well, and it had chilled the atmosphere like only a Stark disapproving of something could do. Winter is coming, Kurt thought bitterly as he drank listlessly from his cup of wine.

Lord Stark called for everyone’s attention in between two servings to announce Kurt’s imminent departure. Blaine’s face darkened, if that was even possible given the gloomy mood he had been since he entered the hall, and Kurt’s stomach twisted so much he lost his appetite. 

“I have a something to say,” Blaine said when his father had sat down. When he had everyone’s attention, he continued. “I have been thinking about this for a long time and I have come to a decision this afternoon. I’m the second son, so I won’t inherit land nor title. This is why I have decided to take the Black. I will leave at the same time as Kurt to head north.”

Not only had Kurt lost his appetite, but after Blaine’s words, he felt like he was going to be sick. Everyone seemed stunned, too, and a heavy silence fell over the great hall.

“Are you sure, son?” Lady Stark asked. “You know about the oaths and what happens to those who break them.”

“I do, Mother, but this is what I wish to do. I have thought about it.”

They all glanced at Lord Stark, waiting for him to react. Kurt’s head was swimming and he wished nothing more than to retire to his bedchambers or run out and destroy something, anything so he would stop feeling as numb as he did.

“It is an honourable decision you have made, Blaine, and I am proud of you. You will make a valiant Black Brother.”

This was more than Kurt could endured. He curtly asked to be excused before fleeing the room and barring the door to his bedchambers. He sat on his bed and watched the fire burning in the hearth for a long time, his head swirling with darkness and sorrow. He had barely started accepting the fact that he would have to part from Blaine when he left, but he had had the hope he could invite Blaine to visit in the future. The prospect of showing him the royal court, of laughing with him about the overdone manners of the lords and ladies crowding the throne room of the Red Keep was the first thing that made him smile since he read the letter, but now it would never happen. Blaine would travel north to join the Night’s Watch and he would be as good as dead to Kurt, his loyalty sworn to the realm and the protection of the Wall. He would not have time for a foolish prince living so far in the south it almost felt like a different world.

He was in bed when someone knocked on his door. He had an idea of who it might be.

“I’m tired, Blaine. We will talk tomorrow,” he said, hoping his voice would carry through the wooden door. He did not want put his breeches back on only to chase Blaine away.

“Please, Kurt, I can’t sleep,” came Blaine’s response, his voice small and whiny.

“Fine,” he said around a huff.

Blaine entered hesitantly, the candle he was carrying lighting his face from underneath and casting glum shadows. He crossed the chamber and sat at the foot of Kurt bed while he reclined against the headboard, holding the covers up over his chest with his arms crossed.

“You left hurriedly, earlier,” Blaine said in an attempt to break the ice.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you want to take the Black.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Placing the candle on the nightstand, Blaine pulled his legs on the bed and crossed them, sitting to face Kurt. “We won’t all inherit an entire realm. I have to make a life for myself and I don’t want to marry a highborn lady and live in my brother’s shadow for the rest of my life. It is a great honour to join the Night’s Watch.”

The thought of Blaine marrying someone sent a pang of jealousy through Kurt’s heart, but he kept a straight face. Surely Blaine had the same thoughts about him, about how Kurt would be expected to find himself a Queen once he was back in King’s Landing. Perhaps it was what made him decide to take the Black, so he would not have to witness it happening.

“Don’t fool yourself, when we visited two years ago you saw as well as me that the Black Brothers are either disfigured by the cold or drunkards. There is no honour left in the Night’s Watch, Blaine, and you know it.”

“Is that so? Well, we’ll see who has honour when you maim yourself on that ridiculous throne your family is so proud to own and look a fool in front of the royal court.”

“That does not even make sense,” Kurt snapped, feeling the heat rising on his cheeks and his ears. Blaine could be so infuriating when he was acting like a child, refusing to listen to what Kurt had to say.

“I don’t understand why you are so upset about this. Why do you care? In a fortnight, you will be gone, a brand new life awaiting you, and I will be left here, on my own. You have everything to gain if you leave, while I am losing everything.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Kurt said, his voice small and weak. “I would rather stay here. I do not want any of the burdens that come with being the heir to the realm. I don’t want to leave you behind. I think it is going to kill me, if I do.”

“No, it will not. A year from now, you will have forgotten me. You will find a handsome lordling who will make you smile with jests and presents, and you will forget everything about the northern boy you left behind.” It was hard to see in the dark, but Kurt thought he saw tears shining in Blaine’s eyes.

“No!” Kurt said forcefully, reaching forward to cup Blaine’s face. The covers slipped and bared his chest, but Kurt ignored the shivers that ran through him as the cold night air hit his skin. “I could never forget you, Blaine. I love you and it breaks my heart to leave you behind.”

“I could never love another,” Blaine said, his voice breaking. “This is why I have to take the Black. I cannot marry.”

“You damned Starks. You are as loyal as those direwolves you love so much.” Kurt chuckled and stroked Blaine’s cheek, smiling fondly, but unable to shake off the sadness that took over him when he learned he had to leave.

“You know what they say, the Stark pups are more wolf than man.” Blaine turned his head and nipped at Kurt’s hand in a way reminiscent of Snow. He sniffled and Kurt brushed away a tear with his thumb.

“Please, don’t join the Night’s Watch,” Kurt whispered, pulling Blaine to him. The boy snuggled up into his side and let out a puff of warm air against Kurt’s bare shoulder. “I will take you south with me.”

“I was born too high to be a bedwarmer,” Blaine mumbled, chuckling when Kurt slapped his arm. “Let’s not spoil this evening. We can talk about it more on the morrow.”

“I am serious, Blaine. I can take you to court with me. You could be a member of the Kingsguard, or you could become a knight. And eventually, when I take the throne, I could make you my Hand.”

“Would that you could,” Blaine said through a sigh.

“But I can, Blaine. There will come a day when I will make the laws. I will be the supreme authority of the Seven Kingdoms. On this day, if I decide that I want you to be the Hand of the King, there will be no one able to stop me. And in the meantime, the Red Keep could use more people like you Starks. There would be work for you at the court to keep your days busy. And at night, we could meet in my bedchambers just like we do here. We could have it all, Blaine, but not if you take the Black.”

“It all sounds too good to be true.”

“Do you trust me?”

“You know that I do.”

“Then trust that I will make it happen. I am not letting you leave for the Wall. I am not letting you leave my side.”

Blaine leaned up to kiss under Kurt’s chin, smiling against his skin before trailing his lips up Kurt’s jaw to nuzzle behind his ear. Kurt hummed under his breath and shifted lower against his pillows, pulling Blaine closer, his fingers gripping at the fabric of his tunic as they moved across Blaine’s shoulders.

Blaine shifted until he was straddling Kurt’s thighs, his knees pressed into the featherbed and his hands on Kurt’s shoulder for leverage, and he crashed their mouths together. Kurt gripped his waist and digged his fingers into Blaine’s flesh as he licked into his mouth, pushing Kurt down until he was lying on his back. 

Kurt’s breath was coming out in ragged gasps within minutes and he groaned, rolling his hips up, seeking friction and Blaine’s warmth. They usually liked to take it slow, kissing lazily until their senses were overwhelmed and they craved for release, but it did not seem like it would be the case, not with Blaine kissing down his neck and across his collarbones before moving down his chest, pushing the blankets as he went.

Pulling at Blaine’s tunic and shivering as the wet spots Blaine’s lips left cooled down, Kurt kicked at the covers until they were bunched up at the foot of the bed. 

“You are going to freeze,” Blaine said in a low voice, his eyes travelling over Kurt’s naked body and lingering on his cock, red and flushed and already leaking against his stomach.

“Then get out of your clothes and warm me up,” he said coyly before biting his lip, his fingers playing with the laces of Blaine’s breeches, tracing over the shape of his erection. Kurt had no idea where that came from, but it seemed to please Blaine because soon after he was lowering himself over Kurt and pressing their bodies together, skin against skin. 

Their mouths met again as they began rocking their hips in rhythm. Kurt raked his fingers through Blaine’s hair, tugging until Blaine let out a broken moan and thrust forward roughly, their cocks rubbing together and sending fire through Kurt’s veins. He threw his head back and Blaine latched his lips to his neck, kissing a path down the column of his throat before sucking on his collarbone, where a mark would not show the next day.

Kurt’s free hand grabbed Blaine’s shoulder blade, pulling him impossibly closer and hooking his legs around his waist, his heels digging into the back of his thighs. 

“I love you,” Blaine said against his lips, the words ending in a moan when Kurt pushed down on Blaine’s hips with his legs at the same time he moved his own up, meeting Blaine’s thrust. 

“Love you, too,” Kurt panted and then he was coming, his body tensing up and arching as he clung to Blaine.

Blaine followed soon after, his thrusts against Kurt becoming erratic and jerky until he stopped completely and groaned, burying his face in Kurt’s neck before slumping on top of him, suddenly boneless.

The minutes stretched as they lay in silence, wrapped in each other, and Kurt only moved when the sheen of sweat covering his body dried up and he had to pull the covers on top of them.

“You should go back to your bedchambers,” he whispered, brushing stray curls out of Blaine’s forehead and planting a kiss there.

“I’ll do it in the morning.” Kurt had a thousand arguments about why this was a bad idea, but he seemed to forget them all when Blaine cuddled into his side and pressed a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Can you blow the candle?”

\---

The courtyard was crowded and bursting with activity, stable boys running here and there to ready the horses for the travel while maidservants helped load Blaine and Kurt’s luggage. Kurt stayed away from the Starks, letting them have their farewells in peace as he pretended to overlook the preparations.

When it looked like it was safe to approach them, he thanked Lord and Lady Stark for everything they did in the past ten years, his words inadequate to show just how grateful he was. They had given him just what his father had hoped he would get, a real childhood surrounded with children his age to play with him, away from the royal court and the responsibilities he would have to deal with soon enough. They had treated him like their own son and he had spent more time with them than with his own father. Leaving gave him the same heartbreak than when he had first arrived.

“You are always welcome in King’s Landing,” Kurt said, putting his hand on Lord Stark’s shoulder for emphasis.

“And you in Winterfell. Take good care of our son, Kurt. And of yourself, as well.”

“I will,” he said earnestly. He yelped with he was pulled into a hug by the stern man. It was quickly over and then Lady Stark was hugging him, too, placing a kiss to his cheek. “You better be off. It’s a long road to King’s Landing and the air smells of snow.”

Kurt mounted his horse and smiled as Blaine steered his own to stand by Kurt’s. “Ready?” he asked, squinting against the bright morning sun.

“Race you to the end of the winter town,” Blaine said cheerily before kicking his horse forward, his laughter trailing after him as Kurt let out an indignant yelp at Blaine’s treachery. 

_Yes_ , he thought, _I can face anything if he is beside me._


	2. Chapter 2

The Red Keep was more impressive than anything Blaine could have ever imagined. Towering over the rest of the city on top of its hill, it dwarfed Winterfell, making it look like a vulgar peasant shed, and suddenly Blaine felt underdressed in his plain travelling garb. 

Kurt was looking up as well, but instead of the worry Blaine felt like coiling snakes in his belly, he was smiling softly, his eyes bright and happy.

“I’m coming home,” he said, turning his gaze to Blaine. He kicked his horse into a trot and Blaine hurried after him, checking over his shoulder that Snow was following while the rest of the escort let out groan of frustration.

It had been a recurring event during their journey to have Kurt disregarding the orders to stay grouped and to run ahead, Blaine following and only succeeding in making him stop when they had lost sight of the others. He never found out whether Kurt was in a hurry to get to King’s Landing or if he needed time on his own, but he never told Blaine to leave him alone and it gave them moments alone to touch and speak freely. The scenery was not always ideal and Blaine would never forget that one time a grass-snake crawled up his leg as they were kissing next to a spring, but he found he lived for those few moments while they were on the road. 

With the memories of those stolen kisses in private he had with Kurt over the past month, the promise of private chambers and featherbeds was the highlight of Blaine’s life as he crossed the King’s Gate behind Kurt. He marvelled at the change in attitude of the guards as soon as they saw the crowned stag embroidered on Kurt’s green velvet doublet. Kurt had taken to wear clothes that were sent to him by his father for his arrival in King’s Landing after they passed the Trident, and for the first time since those first few days ten years ago he looked like a prince.

The ride up the winding streets of the city was fascinating and Blaine spent it looking left and right of the streets bursting with activity, feeling a tingle of excitement as the crowds moved up against the walls to let them through. The sightings of the sigil on Kurt’s clothings raised whispers in their wake, the sound like that of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees in the godswood. Blaine felt homesick at the memory, but it was gone not long after as he observed the way Kurt carried himself, shoulders squared and head held high. Blaine straightened his back and tried to mimic Kurt’s posture, feeling foolish when Kurt smirked at him.

Stable boys rushed forward to tend to their horses as soon as they entered the Red Keep, but Blaine barely noticed them. He was unable to stop gaping at everything that surrounded him, the castle even more impressive up close. 

“Shut your mouth or else you will end up swallowing flies, m’lord,” Kurt teased in a sing-song voice, nudging Blaine after he crossed the yard to stand by his side.

“Your house is making mine look very insignificant, Your Grace,” he replied and grinned when Kurt let out a laugh, the sound kindling the flame that always burned in Blaine’s heart for Kurt.  
“Yours had its charms. It was quaint.”

Blaine elbowed Kurt and he laughed again, elbowing Blaine back. He looked like he was about to say something else when he noticed the way the stable boys were trying hard not to appear like they were looking at him. Kurt seemed to remember at once who he was and he straightened up and pushed back his shoulders before addressing them.

“Have my belongings brought up to my bedchambers. Make sure that Lord Stark is given the best available chambers of Maegor’s Holdfast. He shall be treated as a guest of the highest importance. If it raises any objections, please take it to me or my father.” Kurt raised his eyebrow and then added, as an afterthought, “The King.”

“As it pleases Your Grace.”

“Come, m’lord,” Kurt said, nodding for Blaine to follow him. “I believe I am expected in the Throne Room.”

“Well actually, Kurt, your father asked for me to escort you to his chambers. He wishes to speak to you alone.” 

Blaine had not noticed the man who spoke as they dismounted their horses, but now that he had he wondered how that could have been. He was richly dressed in deep purples and grays and a golden hand was pinned to his doublet. The Hand of the King. 

Was he supposed to bow to the man? If Blaine was from a nobler family than he, did the title of Hand put the man higher in the hierarchy and thus Blaine was required to show him the appropriate respects, or did his birth keep him above? He never had to worry about this back in Winterfell. Everyone that visited was lower than him, except for Kurt, and, well, Kurt was Kurt.

“Blaine,” Kurt said ceremoniously, putting his hand on Blaine’s shoulder, “let me introduce you to Lord William Schuester, the Hand of the King. Lord Schuester, this is Lord Blaine Stark, from Winterfell.”

“My lord,” Lord Schuester said politely and Blaine returned it, awkwardly bowing his head down for good measure. The Hand eyed Snow, who was sitting by Blaine’s feet, and he shifted his weight on his feet.

“You can take me to my father, now.” Kurt’s voice was colder than Blaine had ever heard it and he glanced at him quickly, only to find his face hard and expressionless. 

“At once, Kurt.” He shifted his gaze to Blaine and cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lord Stark wishes to be escorted to his bedchambers? We had them prepared for him in--”

“I already requested that Lord Stark be put in Maegor’s Holdfast,” Kurt cut sharply. “Please make sure the proper arrangements are made.”

Lord Schuester chuckled and shook his head, smiling fondly at Kurt. When he spoke, it was with benevolence and Blaine felt a wave of sympathy for the man. He was only doing his job, after all, and trying to make Kurt’s return as seamless as possible. “It has been a long time since you last set foot here, Kurt. The Holdfast is for the royal family only, but I can’t blame you for forgetting. Surely you meant--”

“I meant exactly what I said, my lord. Lord Stark will reside in Maegor’s Holdfast. This is my final order. I will find the way to my father’s chambers on my own, it has been a long travel and this conversation is only delaying the rest I sorely need.”

Lord Schuester bowed and headed back to the castle. Kurt followed a few paces behind and Blaine fell in at his side, keeping silent until they were out of earshot from everyone.

“I have a feeling you do not like this man,” he said cautiously. He knew Kurt’s tempers too well.

“Have you heard how he calls me Kurt as if we were friends? I could never tolerate this man, even as a child. He’s a lowborn, the son of some landed knight who made a name for himself in a war my grandfather waged, and he believes he can walk around the Red Keep and govern the kingdom because of a golden pin on his breast. And you bowed to him? It was subtle, but he noticed it. What were you thinking, Blaine? He should be grovelling at your feet instead of treating you like your some peasant I took a fancy in and brought home with me. You do not bow for anyone but my father, understood? You are higher born than everyone here and they will show you the appropriate courtesies or I will make them.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Now you do.”

Guards marched out of the way as Kurt stormed down hallways and across a dry moat lined with iron spikes at the bottom. He pushed opened a door, sending it banging against the opposite wall and that seemed to calm him down because he started up the winding staircase at a normal pace. Snow hesitated at the entrance and Blaine had to coax him inside. It took long enough to force him to run up the stairs to catch up with Kurt.

“How did he come to be the Hand?” Blaine asked when he finally reached him. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt snorted. “He was a ward at Highgarden with my father. They grew up together and I imagine my father trusted him enough to name him Hand after my grandfather died. We’re almost there.” 

They stopped outside of a door and Kurt took in a deep breath, brushing his clothes and carding his fingers through his hair nervously. His anger had turned into anxiety and he seemed to be thrumming with nervous energy.

“You look great,” Blaine said softly, stepping closer.

“But do I look regal? I don’t want to walk in there looking like a--” He stopped and bit his lip, a blush coming up on his cheeks.

“Like a wolf prince?”

The rumours, quicker than they, travelled and reached the Twins before their party stopped there for a few days. The Freys had heard of Kurt’s imminent return to King’s Landing and Blaine heard the household calling Kurt the “wolf prince” behind his back more than once. He had told Kurt about it, which made him flush with anger, whispering his anger to Blaine in the dark of his bedchambers and explaining how degrading it was in the south to be associated with wolves. It alluded to the falsely held beliefs that northerners were unrefined and wild, and it was a terrible perception to have of the next King for noble and peasant alike, especially as a descendent of the Tyrells and the Baratheons, two of the most powerful Houses of the south. Blaine had nodded and pretended like it did not feel as though Kurt was saying that being from the north was a thing that could be held against him here in the capital, where he was going to live for the rest of his life.

“Like I travelled for the past month,” Kurt finished with a sigh.

“It will be alright, Kurt. He might be the King, but he’s your father.”

Kurt nodded resolutely and then knocked on the door. The reply was muffled by the thick wood, telling them that he was busy and to come back later. “It’s Kurt,” he said and Blaine squeezed his hand briefly.

The door swung open and then the King of Westeros was standing in front of them. Blaine felt the urge to bend the knee, his deeply ingrained manners kicking in and taking over his brain as his mind reeled at the thought that this was actually the King standing in front of him. It had been easy to forget that Kurt was a prince the moment he tripped over his own feet and fell face first in the mud four days after he arrived to Winterfell, but as he looked at the two Baratheons and noticed the similarities, he was faced with the realization that Kurt was the heir to the kingdom.

Said heir was currently being smothered in a fierce hug and Blaine looked down at Snow to busy himself while he waited, meeting the wolf’s golden eyes and shrugging when he found what looked a lot like a question in them. 

Father and son eventually let go of each other and they were ushered into the room.

“Who’s your guest?” the King asked, but he continued before Kurt could reply. “No, do not tell me. Dark curly hair, pale skin, those eyes--” Blaine flushed under the scrutinizing look. “You must be the Starks’ firstborn? It was very honorable of your father to send you along with my son for safety, but it was unnecessary.” Turning to Kurt, he shook his head. “I imagined he’d be older. And is that a wolf?”

“Snowf--” Blaine glared at Kurt, silently daring him to use Snow’s full name. Kurt chuckled under his breath. “Snow is a direwolf, Father. And you are wrong. Blaine is the second Stark son. He came along because he wished to--” Kurt stalled and glanced at Blaine for help. 

They had not discussed the matter much after the night Kurt convinced him that taking the Black was a terrible idea. He knew he wanted to follow him to King’s Landing, but he had no idea what he would do. There were many possibilities offered to him and his name would open every door, but none felt right. Except perhaps--

“To take an oath of fealty to the prince, Your Grace,” Blaine spoke, bowing when the King looked at him like he was noticing him for the first time.

“Blaine, was it?” Blaine nodded, keeping his head down. “Straighten up, boy, or your bones will stay stuck that way. So, you wish to become my son’s sworn sword?”

“Ku--The Prince will need a personal guard to ensure his safety and I believe growing up together has proven him that I am worthy of his trust. It would be an honour to protect the prince, Your Grace.”

“Does he always speak like that?” The King asked Kurt, who stifled a laugh by biting his lip as he shook his head. “You are right, Blaine. I started looking for knights for Kurt’s safeguard. You are not a knight.”

“No, Your Grace, but I do not think the lack of title will impair my ability to protect the prince.”

The King chuckled and clapped Blaine on the shoulder. “I am only jesting. You will take your oath tonight during the feast. Now, ask someone to escort you to your chambers, I wish to spend some time with my son.”

“Speaking of his chambers,” Kurt said, glancing furtively at Blaine. “I requested that he be put in Maegor’s Holdfast.”

The King shrugged and shook his hand dismissively, which brought a smug smile to Kurt’s face. Blaine made his way to the door, Snow on his heels.

“If you need anything, Stark, you only have to ask. The Red Keep is at your service.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Blaine stopped with his hand on the doorknob when Kurt spoke. “I will come and get you for the feast, Blaine.”

“Very well.” 

\---

The warm water sloshed around the large marble tub as Blaine shifted, sinking lower and relishing the way his muscles relaxed and tension left his body. He barely registered that there was a knock on the door or that it opened, only becoming aware that Kurt had walked in when his hands, which he obviously dipped into the water to warm them, touched his shoulders. Blaine groaned as Kurt began massaging them, pressing his thumbs into the knots he encountered.

“You should join me,” Blaine said in a low voice. He let his head fall forward so Kurt could knead at the back of his neck, where the muscles were stiff from riding for days.

Kurt’s lips pressed wetly on the nape of his neck and he shook his head before pulling away. “I already washed before I came here. I did not expect to find you quite so naked,” he whispered into Blaine’s ear, one arm coming up to wrap around Blaine’s shoulders and the other moving down the front of his body, Kurt’s fingers stroking a path down passed the surface of the water to rest against Blaine’s belly. “How do you like your chambers?”

The chambers were bigger than Blaine’s back at Winterfell and richly furnished. The bed was a massive thing made of golden wood, the four posts elegantly carved with the sigil of the royal House. The beddings were of a rich dark blue with white embroideries in the shape of moon crescents and eagles. House Arryn, Blaine realized, and it fitted with the rest of the room, everything finely carved and delicately-built in light colours. The sun was setting, dimming the room, but Blaine had a feeling it would be awash with sunlight on the next day.

“Everything is gorgeous,” Blaine replied, craning his neck to press a kiss to Kurt’s chin.

“My great-grandparents used this room when they visited from the Eyrie.” Kurt got up and wiped his arms with one of the plush towels a handmaid had left for Blaine’s use. He crossed the room and sat on the bed, grinning when Snow pushed at his hand with his muzzle until Kurt started petting him. “But I will ask that it be redecorated to the Stark colours. You should finish getting ready, the feast will start soon.”

“How was it with your father?” Blaine asked as he got dressed. He smirked when he saw Kurt’s eyes glued to him, his lips slightly parted.

He had not expected the heavy sigh that Kurt let out, nor the sad look on his face. “It was alright. We had not seen each other in ten years, I could not expect things to be as they were.”

“That bad?”

Kurt shrugged and looked at Snow, smiling at the wolf when it nibbled on his hand. He carded his fingers through the thick pale gray fur. “No. It will be fine. We need some time to get reacquainted, but if I succeeded in making your father fond of me, I should be able to do the same with my own. Ready?”

The size of the Great Hall astounded Blaine when they entered, but he did not have time to let it sink in as every guest got up and grew silent at the announce of Kurt’s name. He felt every eye on him as they crossed the long room and he tried to carry himself taller, failing miserably under the weight of the gazes. A seat had been saved for him on the dais, to Kurt’s right, and they shared a smile as they stood behind their chairs. The attention of the hall shifted to the entrance, where the King had appeared. He joined them rapidly and clapped Kurt on the shoulder before taking the seat to his left. As he sat down, everyone did the same, and the servants brought in the first serving.

Half of what was on Blaine’s plate was completely unknown to him, which he admitted to Kurt in a whisper.

“This is a melon,” Kurt said around a laugh when Blaine held up something orange cut in the shape of a square.

“And it’s edible?”

“It’s delicious.” Kurt stole it from Blaine’s hand and popped it into his mouth, laughing again when Blaine gasped in mock-offence.

Despite the unknown things which Blaine tasted reluctantly, the food was good and the wine even better, their cups were refilled before he could even see the bottom. Before long, Blaine felt sleepy and so full he might not have to eat for a few days. Kurt was animatedly discussing with his father, his hands flying around as he explained something Blaine was too lazy to try to understand. He was happy to only sit and watch him, smiling as Kurt’s cheeks flushed from the wine and the enthusiasm he was putting into his story. 

“I hear you are taking an oath of fealty later tonight.”

Blaine blinked himself back to the present and turned to where Lord Schuester was looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered plainly. The Hand nodded thoughtfully before taking a sip of wine and Blaine mirrored him, still not quite sure of what were the expected courtesies. Kurt’s radical ‘you bow to no one’ was sure to offend everyone he met.

“The King had considered someone else for the prince’s personal guard. A valiant young knight, maybe you were told about him?” Blaine shook his head and reached for a roll just so he would have something to do. “Nevertheless, I am sure you will make a decent guard, if what they say about the Starks is true.” Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but the man continued. “Have you considered taking your knighthood oaths, as well?

“I cannot be a knight. The oaths are taken under the Faith of the Seven, aren’t they? I keep the old gods.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. We don’t meet a lot of northerners in King’s Landing. Is the snow a concern for you, or have you learned to live with it?” he ask candidly.

Blaine gave him a tight smile and shoved the roll into his mouth, glancing at Kurt in hopes he would notice what was going on and would save him. It was the King who noticed and he winked at Blaine.

“William, I hope you are not giving Stark too much of a hard time?” he called and Lord Schuester shook his head, a meek smile appearing on his lips. 

“My lord,” Kurt chided. He put his hand on Blaine’s arm and dug his fingers in his flesh for a second. “Do not scare him before he has taken his oath and cannot run away without committing treason.”

“Speaking of oaths, perhaps this should be done before everyone has had too much wine to remember,” the King spoke and then got up. Blaine marvelled at how the hall immediately grew quiet. “As you all know, we are gathered here to welcome back Kurt, my only son and heir. He has brought with him from Winterfell a lord who wishes to swear to his protection, and we will all serve as witness of this oath. Let it be said in a cheery atmosphere, surrounded by good friends and a good meal, in the hopes that the prince’s life may be filled with nothing but that.”

Kurt smiled as his father sat down and then got up, pulling Blaine along. “Your brought your sword?” he whispered as they walked around the table to stand in front of it, where they might be seen by everyone. Blaine nodded. “You remember the words? We should have rehearsed. I rehearsed my titles while I was taking a bath. Did you? You need to list them, don’t forget.”

“I remember the words, Kurt, don’t worry.”

They stopped when they were standing in front of where the King sat, the nobility to their left and more knights and lords than Blaine had ever seen to their right. Taking a deep breath, he unsheathed his sword and bent the knee in front of Kurt, laying it at his feet.

“I, Blaine of House Stark, son of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, am yours, my lord. I will shield you and keep your counsel. I will give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new,” Blaine swore, his voice carrying loud and clear through the silent hall.

“I, Kurt of House Baratheon, first of his name, heir and prince of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, and the Seven Kingdoms, and future Protector of the Realm, vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise.”

Blaine sheathed his sword and stood, meeting Kurt’s eyes and holding his gaze. This was the closest to weddings vows they would ever be allowed to take. He could tell Kurt felt the same way as him and he swallowed thickly as Kurt finally looked away to smile at his father.

That night, as he lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, felt let himself feel homesick. He missed the quiet nights and he wondered how he would sleep with the constant rattle of the guards marching outside his window. He missed the way the temperature would drop after dark, allowing him to snuggle under heavy covers or warm his hands by the fire. He was uncomfortably warm as he lay on top of the covers and the air was humid with the heat of the day, sticking his smallclothes to his body. Mostly, though, he missed how he could slip into Kurt’s room and let the sound of his breathing lull him to sleep. He did not dare do it in case he fell asleep and they found him there in the morning. They would surely send him back to Winterfell, or worse, ban him to the Wall for inappropriate behaviour towards the prince.

A wave of loneliness washed over him and he curled up on his side, hugging a pillow to his chest. At the same time, the door to his chambers opened slowly and Kurt quietly slipped in, climbing into bed and clinging to Blaine tightly without saying a word. Blaine turned in his arms and buried his face against his chest, breathing him in deeply. 

He left at the break of dawn with a kiss to Blaine’s cheek and a whispered ‘I love you.’


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was high in the sky as Kurt sped through the hallways of the Red Keep. It beat down on the stone walls and reflected off the metal of the guards’ armours, blinding and harsh and filling the senses until it seemed the only thing left in the world was the sun and the heat. It made Kurt’s head dizzy and the cotton of his tunic stick to the skin of his back, sweat running down his temples and the ridge of his spine.

The heat wave was unrelenting, it had been turning life in King’s Landing into a nightmare for nearly three weeks, and Kurt would pay in blood for just one night spend without tossing and turning on his humid sheets while praying for a breeze that refused to come. 

To make everything worse, the heat was making Blaine insufferable. It turned his usually cheerful character into a gloomy shadow of the man Kurt loved. The constant heat was tugging at their nerves and their time was spent between arguing over trivial matters because they barely slept and arguing some more when they overheated themselves by having sex and could not endure even being naked without feeling too warm and irritable.

That was when they had time for each other, which rarely happened any more. He was required to sit on the royal council, which met nearly daily for hours to discuss the state of the culture of grapes in Evenfall or the population of mountain goats at the Eyrie, which made Kurt consider jumping out the window several times every hour. He compensated by drinking too much wine, which only raised his body temperature and made him even more moody.

While he was wasting his youth in favour of watching a debate on the usefulness of a second set of tapestries for the great hall, Blaine was being rigorously trained by the master-at-arms. The man had judged Blaine’s sword-wielding abilities were unsatisfactory for the prince’s personal guard and had made it his mission to mold Blaine into a proper fighter (his exact words had been “my mother could take you down, Stark,” and Blaine did not take it personally until he was told the mother in question was eighty years old and a cripple). He always ended his days with stiff muscles and his moral destroyed, which did not help their arguing problems.

His mind already filled with dark clouds, Kurt entered the council room and frowned when the conversations stopped. They usually never bothered to acknowledge his arrival, barely even made a fuss for his father’s entrance, so the silence made Kurt groan inwardly.

“Your Grace,” Lord Ryerson greeted him, bowing his head and smiling meekly when Kurt stared at him blankly. The Dagger, they called him, the “royal informer” and the only man capable of sending cold chills down Kurt’s spine. He was dressed in his usual garish pink cape and daintily sipping from a cup. “You are looking particularly--” his eyes travelled up and down Kurt’s body. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his heels. “--well-rested, today.”

Giving him a tight-lipped smile, Kurt took his place by the king’s right and reached for the pitcher of water, pouring himself a glass, the tepid water doing nothing to lift his mood.

“The King cannot be here today, so we will proceed now that the Prince has arrived,” Lord Schuester announced and everyone straightened in their seats. Everyone except Kurt. He only slumped lower and listlessly picked a grape from the bowl of fruit resting on the table. “Lady Sylvester, I believe you have news from the Greyjoys regarding the gold they owe us--”

Kurt’s eyes closed against his will and he felt his entire body becoming numb as sleep took over him, the heat and the lack of air in the room lulling him to sleep as much as the account of the Dagger’s informers on the state of the city whorehouses. He could hear the sound of swords hitting swords in the distance and he imagined he was watching Blaine. Kurt thought of the way he would discard his clothes so his chest was bare and golden in the morning light, shining from the sheen of sweat caused by the physical exertion and the harsh sun, and how all Kurt would want to do is drag him to his chambers and--

“--Kurt?”

Kurt’s eyes snapped open when Lord Schuester gently tapped his shoulder. “I’m sorry I dozed off,” he said in a rush, straightening in his seat and feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks as they looked at him. “What did I miss?”

“What is your opinion of Quinn Lannister?” Lady Sylvester asked roughly, taking a sip from her glass of wine in one rough motion before roughly setting it down and glaring at Kurt. She even managed to make looking at someone seem rough.

Kurt gulped. “I know she exists.”

Lady Sylvester exchanged a glance with Lord Schuester and nodded. “That will do. You are to marry her.”

Kurt cannot say he did not see it coming. “Why her?” When frowns appeared around the table, he corrected his words. “What will an alliance with the Lannisters bring to the Kingdom?”

“An alliance with the Lannisters, for one,” the Dagger said coldly. “Enough gold to cover our debt and we’re securing the entire West and all their banners, which is a considerable number of men rallying to us.”

Flawless logic. Kurt had nothing to counter, except things he could not talk about. They had him cornered and they knew it. Or perhaps they did not, because perhaps there was no malicious intent in their action, only the well-being of the kingdom. Kurt did not care, in that moment, he felt betrayed and cheated and all he wanted was to get out of the increasingly claustrophobic room before he did a mistake and blurted out a confession that would put Blaine's life in danger.

He was not blind, nor stupid; he knew that no harm would come to him if it ever became known that he and Blaine--that they--did things. He was the prince, the heir, the cherished son of the kingdom, and he probably could kill someone in broad daylight and get away with it. 

Blaine, on the other hand, had not made himself popular in the higher ranks of the city. Commoners and the household staff loved him, handmaids gushed and giggled every time he smiled at them and he had managed to become best friends with the kitchen staff so that he was always bringing Kurt sweets, but the people that really mattered were more reluctant to trust him. There were a few ladies, Lady Sugar and Lady Rachel, who had grown fond of him, but overall, cold stares followed him everywhere he went.

He was a stranger, a man of the North, surrounded by centuries-old tales of wargs and children of the forest, of the Others and the smell of cold deep in the night that nurses told children to be weary of. Kurt knew that if it were discovered that the prince was turning down a marriage for the Stark beastling, he would lose Blaine and even his father would not be able to save him.

The constant talking and the rumours were the worse part of his new life. Whispers and hushed voices followed him everywhere he went, he could feel eyes on him as he walked through the Red Keep - his home, he could not even be left alone in his home - but he had to keep his head high. Pretend like he did not notice, even if all he wanted was to hide in his bedchambers or steal away in the middle of the night to ride back to Winterfell where he would truly feel welcomed. 

And wasn't it ironic that Winterfell, the most unwelcoming place in the kingdom this side of the Wall was the one place where he felt he could be himself? Where he could be Kurt instead of His Grace, where decisions he made did not have an impact on the entire nation, where he could love Blaine freely and fully without having to fear that someone might hear them or walk in because they still had the privilege of privacy and secrecy.

And gods, did he love Blaine. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, the saying went, but they forgot to mention that confinement in a highly guarded place where intimacy was a foreign concept did the same. Despite their constant bickering, the few stolen moments he had with Blaine were what helped him pull through, the difference between being apathetic during his daily princely obligations and going on a murderous rampage because he was so bored he could cry. He loved Blaine and Blaine loved him, and that knowledge warmed him up from the inside, softening his edges and making everything seem just that much brighter.

"Your Grace?" Lord Ryerson was looking at Kurt expectantly. It almost felt like Kurt had a choice.

"Very well. When will I get to meet my betrothed?" Cold, controlled voice. Everything so they have no idea how painful it was just to say that single word. Betrothed. Funny how a single word had the potential to create a gap between him and Blaine, ruining everything. He felt sick just thinking about it.

"A raven will be sent to Highgarden this day so the Lannisters can prepare for their journey. I would expect her to be here in a fortnight, unless she listened to us and began preparing while she waited for our letter."

_How long have you known you were going to sell me for lands and men?_ Kurt burned to ask, but he bit his tongue and kept his face neutral. The answer would not please him. He had a fortnight to mourn his freedom. A fortnight to try to find a way to preserve what he had with Blaine. A fortnight before he became the kind of husband that cheats on his wife. His wife.

"Am I required for other issues? Otherwise, I would like to be excused," he said in the most polite voice he could muster with a knot in his throat and a feeling like all the blood had left his head.

"You may go," Lord Schuester said.

He was halfway out of the room when Lady Sylvester called his name, foregoing the proper respects and snapping 'Kurt!' in a harsh voice.

"Yes, m'lady?" he asked, turning on his heels and giving her a smile he hoped appeared sweet. It felt like a grimace.

"Lady Lannister is a good girl. You are lucky. Try to act the part."

It took him everything to leave the room without breaking into a run. He did not set out to go anywhere specific, but his feet carried him to his father’s quarters unconsciously. He stood outside the door, promptly stopped from going any further by the guards on either side of it.

“His Grace is busy,” the one to the right said. “We’re not to let anyone in.”

“I’m not anyone,” Kurt said coldly. “Let me through.”

They exchanged a look and the one on the left shrugged before pushing the door opened. “Your Grace,” he said meekly as he held the door for Kurt.

He felt their eyes on him as he stepped into the chambers. The door shut behind him as he took in the surroundings, trying to see where his father might be. He could hear voices coming from his solar, the sounds of a cheerful conversation becoming clearer as he made his way to it. 

Stepping through the threshold, Kurt saw his father sharing a meal with a boy around his age. Even seated, he seemed tall and imposing, and the effect would have been intimidating had a boyish grin not been stamped on his face. He sat with his shoulders hunched, but his posture straightened when he saw Kurt.

“Your Grace,” he said politely, bowing his head.

“Kurt?” Burt asked. His smile, already broad from whatever the boy had been telling him, brightened when he looked at his son. “Have you met Finn, yet?” Kurt shook his head, walking further into the room, but ignoring the empty chair he was probably expected to sit on.

“What is he doing here?” Kurt heard himself say in a voice he wished had come out more powerful. If he had hoped to feel better after the news of his betrothal by coming to see his father, he had been wrong. Had he not told Kurt he could not break his fast with him that very morning? Was it to be with that boy? Kurt’s stomach knotted.

“He’s my squire.” Burt finally seemed to notice Kurt’s cold attitude, a crease appearing on his forehead as his eyes surveyed Kurt’s. “Is the council meeting already over?”

“I left before the end. Why are you sharing a meal with your squire?” There surely were better, subtler ways to ask his father why he was spending time with a guy who was the living embodiment of everything Kurt was expected to be, but he could not find them at the moment. His palms were clammy and he wiped them on his trousers, swallowing thickly.

“Are you upset about something, Kurt? Because if so, you should just tell me. I don’t have time to play games.”

“I--” and then the words came out on their own, tumbling from his lips before Kurt could stop them. “I came to thank you for the sensible choice you have made for my betrothal. I am glad I was worth such a strong alliance. I am sure Lady Lannister will make a formidable wife, even if I have never met her before.”

Barely above a whisper, Finn whistled. “Lady Quinn Lannister, gods.”

Burt ignored him, turning his attention to Kurt. All traces of amusement were gone from his face. “I’m sorry you found out this way, Kurt. I wanted to tell you myself.”

“I would have appreciated, yes,” Kurt snapped. He had to square his shoulders again, he kept slipping back into a hunched posture. 

“Can we discuss this another time?” Burt asked and Kurt frowned, making his father sigh. “I don’t have time for this now, Kurt, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I understand--”

“No, you’re fuming,” his father cut him, smiling fondly. It only fueled Kurt’s anger. “I know you, even if you think I don’t. I promise we’ll talk about this soon.” 

Kurt swallowed his disbelieving retort, casting his eyes down. He doubted his father knew him as well as he thought he did. “You could have at least warned me that I would have to get married.”

“You knew you’d have to, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” He was causing a scene and he could not care less. Perhaps Finn would understand and leave them alone, although at the moment he seemed to enjoy the spectacle, his eyes travelling between father and son.

“Like you feel betrayed. Look, even royalty must do things that are unpleasant. I know you’d rather marry Stark than--”

“I beg your pardon?” Kurt gasped. His knees weakened and he gripped the back of the chair he was standing behind, his knuckles turning white. Finn choked on his sip of wine and tried to muffle his coughs in the crook of his elbow, turning beet red, but never tearing his eyes from the argument. Perhaps his father knew him better than he thought, after all.

He had always suspected his father knew what was going on between Blaine and him, he was not a fool and did not take his father for one. That is father would bring it up in front of his squire felt like an even bigger betrayal than being all but sold in exchange for lands. His throat tightened and his eyes filled with tears. He was not going to cry in front of that boy, he was not.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Burt’s voice boomed, cutting short any replies. “I meant that you’d rather marry a man than a complete stranger. We are going to talk about this later, Kurt.”

“Fine,” he said in the strongest voice he could manage through the knot in his throat before stalking out, the sound of his father’s tired sigh accompanying him.

\---

Blaine found him in the sept, kneeled in front of the Mother. Snow’s tail waggled to have found Kurt and he padded towards him, nuzzling his cheek until Kurt reached up to scratch between his ears. Blaine knelt besides Kurt, bumping their shoulders together.

"No one knew where you were. I wouldn't have found you without Snow," Blaine said in a whisper. He looked at the candle, burned halfway with the wax running down its sides and pooling at the base, overflowing. "How long have you been here?"

Kurt gave a shrug. "I needed time to think." His eyes travelled up to the idol and he swallowed audibly. "I know we're supposed to pray to the Seven, but I--" he trailed off when Blaine put his hand over his.

"I am sure she hears your prayers." Blaine stroked his thumb over Kurt's joined fingers. "What happened?"

Kurt did not often seek refuge in a sept. Something terrible must have happened. Blaine braced himself for the news, his stomach twisting. He wished he could hold Kurt close, but there were not truly alone. A single misinterpreted - or rightly interpreted, rather - touch would make their lives miserable.

"Not here," Kurt said and got up clumsily, his legs stiff from kneeling for too long. Blaine helped him up. "Meet me in my chambers. Take your time."

Blaine joined him an hour later, carrying a tray covered with fresh fruits and heavy cream. "Those were just brought in. I arranged for the best ones to be put aside for you." Kurt smiled tightly at Blaine, but did not move from his seat by the window.

He had spent the hour worrying himself sick, pacing through the Red Keep and trying to clear his mind so he could be of help to Kurt, no matter what had happened. When his nerves had gotten the best of him and he felt like he could have been sick at any moment, he had made his way to the kitchens, bribing Brittany with smiles and promises of jewels and lands and anything she could ever wish for to be allowed in to prepare a plate for Kurt.

"Take a seat," Kurt said in a calm voice. It erased the smile from Blaine's face, a crease of worry replacing it. Kurt took his hand in his when he sat across from him at the small round table and stroked his thumb over his knuckles a few times, watching the repetitive movement in silence.

"Kurt--" 

He pressed a kiss to Blaine's knuckles and kept his hand to his face. "I have to get married."

"I know, we discussed it before coming here." Blaine smiled and reached for a strawberry just so he had something to do. His stomach felt like someone had poured lead in it.

Kurt shook his head, pressing his nose into the back of Blaine's hand and closing his eyes. "I am betrothed." The hand he was clutching like a lifeline twitched, but Blaine did not pull it away. "They made an arrangement with the Lannisters. There is nothing I can do."

"Nor should you." Blaine was staring outside the window at the Blackwater Rush in the distance when Kurt looked up. From afar, the boats sailing the murky waters looked like toys. "It will be fine."

"I feel like I am going to die." Kurt pressed Blaine’s hand to his cheek and Blaine turned it over, cupping his jaw and stroking his thumb over Kurt’s cheek bone.

“It will be fine. You are going to be a fabulous king, one day, and have the most gorgeous babes in all of the realm. And I will be right here with you, through all this.”

With a wavery smile, Kurt wrapped his fingers around Blaine’s arm, leaning into his touch. Blaine wanted to kiss Kurt until the unshed tears filling his eyes disappeared, wanted to hold him close and rock him until a smile reappeared on his lips, but he dared not. Not in broad daylight, when anyone could walk into the room.

Kurt’s smile widened when he saw Blaine looking at him. It was not by much, it did not reach his eyes, but Blaine counted that as a small victory. “What?”

“Nothing,” Blaine replied, trying to make his voice as light as possible.

“No, tell me.” He leaned back in his chair and let go of Blaine’s hand, taking a grape from the plate and eyeing it without much conviction.

“I was only wondering if you would know how to--you know, how to procreate with your lady wife.”

The laughter bubbled out of Kurt, loud and unrestrained for a few seconds before he composed himself and hid his mouth with his hand, eyes crinkled and sparkling. It was gone just as it had come, a sigh like the weight of the world was on his shoulders leaving Kurt. 

“It is good to see you smile. You haven’t in a long time. Ever since we came here.”

“There are not many reasons to,” Kurt said darkly, casting his gaze outside the window. “My father--” he swallowed, pushed up his chin, “has a particular relationship with his squire.”

“Particular like us, or...?”

“Blaine.” Kurt lifted his eyebrow, staring at Blaine silently for a couple of seconds to let it sink in. “No, I just--It is like we are both two different people from when I left and we’re not meant to get along.”

“But you are. Give it time, Kurt. We have been back for two months, you were gone for ten years. You love each other and this will fix everything.”

The words hung heavy between them, carrying meaning they were not willing to consider in that moment. Things were about to change, Blaine would be a fool to deny it. He could only do his best to keep a smile on Kurt’s face and be there for him, even if it soon would mean opening his bed for him and smelling someone else on his skin, only to see him leave before dawn. He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I am writing them as very over-the-top and cheesy with their love. It's intentional. Assuming that Game of Thrones happens during what would roughly be our Middle Ages, I am giving them a courtly love, which was characterized by passion (from the Latin passio and the original meaning this word was given, that is, suffering) and secrecy. It was also extra-marital and happening between members of the nobility. Think Tristan and Iseult.
> 
> I am a bundle of fun at parties.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO I HAVEN'T ABANDONED THIS!

Through his half-asleep daze, his mind still drifting in and out of a dream, Blaine registered the warm body that was pressed against his. He hummed and moved into it, feeling arms wrapping tighter around his torso and lips against the nape of his neck.

“Morning,” he mumbled, mouth thick and clumsy from the sleep that still lingered around the edges of his mind.

Kurt returned the greeting and dropped a kiss to Blaine’s naked shoulder before pulling him closer against his chest and sighing. The sun was not up yet, a pale dawn light turning their entire world into shades of grey, and Blaine smiled as he let sleep overtake him once more. They still had at least an hour before he had to return to his chambers, it was plenty of time to sleep a bit more, with Kurt’s warmth making everything feel cozy and comfortable.

“I don’t want the sun to rise,” Kurt whispered, nosing behind Blaine’s ear. He stroked a hand across Blaine’s chest, moving it up to wrap over his collarbone.

“Why not?”

Kurt exhaled sharply and kissed the base of Blaine’s jaw. “The Lannisters arrive today.”

Any hope Blaine had to go back to sleep vanished. His body turned cold. The feeling was similar to when he had fallen through the ice of the pond in the godswood back home, saved only by Kurt’s panicked shrieks which had alerted his brother and sent him running back from where he had left them to be with a girl from the winter town. The cold had stayed with him for hours, he could feel it deep in his bones even as he sat by the hearth and drank hot spiced wine under Kurt's worried glances.

The cold that was seeping through his vein as he laid with Kurt was one he did not think would be warded off with the warmth of an open fire. It was more insidious, its tendrils curling around his heart and leaving his head dizzy and his breath short.

Kurt hushed him when he tensed in his arms, tongue teasing the shell of his ear as his hand moved down his chest to his abdomen. He stroked his fingers lightly on the hair running down from Blaine’s navel and moved lower, fingernails scratching through the coarse hair at the base of his cock. Blaine sagged against him, shutting his eyes and his mind.

Stroking his knuckles along Blaine’s soft cock, Kurt buried his nose in the crook of his shoulder and inhaled deeply, his other hand pressing hard against his torso, fingers digging in his flesh. Blaine was hardening under the light touches and Kurt let out an appreciative hum, fingers closing around Blaine and pumping slowly once before letting go. Blaine shivered as Kurt let out a breath of laughter when he protested with a confused noise, wrapping his hand once more and stroking Blaine in earnest.

Kurt's lips attached to the lobe of Blaine's ear, sucking and licking at it while his hand worked on Blaine's cock, drawing sharp gasps from Blaine as his palm rubbed over the head to gather the moisture there and ease the slide. Blaine felt Kurt's erection against the small of his back and he rocked his hips against it, Kurt's breath coming out in a burst close to his ear.

A few seconds of shifting around gave Blaine the time to catch his breath and straighten his mind, but then Kurt's cock was nestled between his ass cheeks and he was thrusting forward in time with the up and down movement of his hand. Blaine's fingers curled into the sheet by his head and he craned his neck to capture Kurt's lips into a kiss, mouths moving together messily and off-center. The slide was too dry and rough, only slightly slicked by the sweat forming on their skins under the increasing warmth outside and the erratic movements of their bodies.

Eyes tightly shut, Blaine wrapped his free hand over Kurt's and forced it to go faster, tightening his grip and moaning when the friction was just right. Kurt groaned and rocked his hips roughly, unsettling his cock, and on the next thrust it slipped down and over Blaine's hole, all the way to the back of his balls. Blaine's whole body jerked and he squeezed his thighs closer, trapping Kurt's cock there and coming soon after as it dragged over his hole again and again. 

With a choked moan Kurt came, nails digging into Blaine's skin where his hand was splayed against his chest. Coming down slowly, his heart thumping in his ears and his head in a happy haze, Blaine turned around in Kurt's arms. He muttered an apology when Kurt hissed as his cock slipped from between Blaine's thigh and pressed his cheek into Kurt's pillow, smiling up at him.

Kurt smiled back, small and lazy, and brushed a curl out of Blaine's forehead, ghosting his fingers down the side of his face and tracing the swell of his cheek before cupping his jaw and pulling him into a kiss. Blaine went in willingly, his lips parting under Kurt's insistent kisses.

The question was on his lips, burning to be asked, but Blaine hated the thought of ruining the moment so he kept it to himself. He knew the answer, really; he knew Kurt was not fine, that meeting his future wife in a few hours was tormenting his mind to the point that he barely slept the night before, tossing and turning for hours before he got out of bed and started pacing the room. Blaine tried to stay awake, but his body betrayed him and he dozed off as Kurt sat by his window and gazed into the distance.

The window, Blaine knew, opened to the north, and it was easy to imagine that Kurt must have thought about his time at Winterfell and how much freer he was without even knowing it. It twisted cold and dark inside of Blaine that he could do nothing to help him besides being there for him. He could not make this easier or tell Kurt that everything would be alright. The unavoidability of the situation made him feel like he was trapped and the walls were closing in, and as they did Kurt grew more and more distant.

“Let's run away," Blaine whispered against Kurt's lips. He stroked his hand up Kurt's arm and kissed the corner of his mouth when he smiled.

Kurt hummed thoughtfully, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Blaine's head. “Tell me more."

“We could sneak off to the stables and request their best horses. While you pack our things, I would go to the kitchens and convince them to give us provisions to last us a few days. We'd make for the Trident--"

“Not horses. I want to see the Free Cities. Let's go to the harbour."

“We can't sail from here, they'd catch us. We could go to Dorne and sell our horses to buy our passage on a trading ship."

“Storm's End is closer."

“But they know who you are, Your Grace.” Blaine pecked Kurt’s nose when he scrunched it up. “No, we have to get away from your families' lands. Snow would bring us game and we'd cook it on an open fire before sleeping under the stars and waking up sore from the previous day's ride and covered in dew water."

“We would only sleep?" Kurt's hand in Blaine's hair tightened, nails grazing his scalp lightly.

A flicker of something wicked flashed in Kurt's eyes and Blaine's voice dropped lower when he spoke. “We'd fuck as often as we could." 

Heat that crept over Kurt’s face and he let out a self-conscious chuckle. “And once we have crossed the sea?"

“We would settle in Tyrosh or Myr. We would have to sell all of our belongings to have a place to live. I could give swordfight lessons and you could school people in the history of Westeros. No one would know who we are and we'd never have to get married. Over time, our reputation in the city would become so favourable that no one would think of questioning why we live together. We would die very old and together while our families wage wars without us. We'd be happy. We'd be together."

The last words caught in Blaine's throat and he had to clear it. Kurt's thumb brushing over the thin skin under his eye to wipe away a tear made him realize he was crying.

“Thank you," Kurt said in a whisper.

Clearing his throat again steadied Blaine's voice. “What for?"

“For this glimpse of what my life could have been had I been born with a different name. For giving me hope." Kurt shrugged. “For being you and being here, with me. For not running away. For being so gracious about the marriage. For everything."

Blaine's lips were forming his reply, ‘of course,’ when the door to Kurt's chambers opened, letting Kurt's maidservant and Snow in. The wolf hurried to the side of the bed Blaine was on, ruining his attempt at hiding under the covers.

“Brittany!" Kurt snapped. He pulled the covers up to his chin and stared at the girl with wide, panicked eyes. “How many times have I told you to knock?"

“Sorry." A pause. “Good morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Blaine." She ignored Kurt's cry of protest, both at her inappropriate familiarity with Blaine and the fact that she did not even pretend that Blaine was not there, and moved to start tidying up the room. “Your royal father asked to have his breakfast served earlier. He is waiting for you."

She kept moving around the room even as Kurt stared at her. “Brittany?" He asked when it was clear she had not noticed. “I can't get out of bed if you are here."

“Why not?"

Kurt muttered ‘why not, Your Grace' under his breath, rolling his eyes. Blaine stroked his thigh underneath the covers. “Because I am naked," he said in a rush. The only sign that he was flustered was the colour his ears turned.

“I have seen naked men before.”

Kurt groaned and threw his head back, slumping against the headboard. The covers he had been clutching to his chest slipped down some, revealing pale skin which seemed to glow under the morning sun now filling the room.

“Brittany," Blaine said calmly. He was stroking soothing circles on Kurt's thigh. “The prince wishes to wash himself before he meets with the king. Go fetch him warm water." 

She nodded, dropped the doublet she was folding - the one Blaine had nearly ripped off Kurt and thrown on the floor in his hurry to get to Kurt's skin the night before - on the back of a chair and walked out of the room.

Getting out of bed, Blaine gathered his clothes from the floor and began putting them on, turning back towards the bed to find Kurt’s eyes on him. No words were exchanged as Blaine dressed. The intimacy of the moment before Brittany walked in was gone. Now the anxiety and worries which had been constantly swirling around Blaine’s mind were all back. He could see them reflected on Kurt’s face, his features drawn and his brow creased.

“I'll have someone get you when the Lannisters arrive." Already, Kurt's voice was more distant when he spoke as Blaine made his way for the door, Snow on his heels. “I'll need you there."

Blaine nodded and cast one last look around the room. In case it was the last time he ever visited it, he wanted to remember the place where he and Kurt had been as close to happy as they could get. No one knew with certainty when the wedding would take place, but it was to be expected that the prince’s activities were going to be watched more closely with the arrival of his betrothed.

\---

It was the king’s squire who came to get him. His face was red and his clothes clung to his body with sweat as he appeared through the trees of the godswood, his breath coming out ragged and short.

“I’ve been looking for you all over the Keep, m’lord,” he panted. He spoke too loudly, his voice echoing around the woods. Snow stood up and snarled, baring his teeth at the intruder. The squire took several steps back and held his hands up. “Can you--your wolf--please.”

“It’s alright, Snow,” Blaine said in a much lower voice, hoping it would give the boy a hint that he was being incredibly disrespectful. “Quiet.”

Reluctantly, the wolf laid back down, resting its head on its paws and looking at Blaine with resentment in its golden eyes. Blaine scratched it between the ears before getting up from where he was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the weirwood. He regretted it immediately when he realized the squire towered over him.

“The prince sent for you, m’lord. The Lannisters are here.” The boy had schooled his voice into a near-whisper, this time. It made him sound like an overgrown child. “I’m to walk you to the Great Hall for the welcoming ceremony.”

With a nod, Blaine called Snow to heel and followed the squire back towards the castle. They walked in silence for a while, the noises coming from the bustle to get everything ready for the celebrations removing the need to talk. Blaine’s mind went to Kurt. At the moment, he was probably in his chambers getting ready to welcome their guests. He would be pacing the room and waiting for his father to knock on the door and tell him it was time, feeling desperately alone and vulnerable as he crossed the castle to reach the Great Hall. He would allow himself one last moment of panic before he put on an impassible face and took a seat next to the Iron Throne.

“I’m Finn, by the way. Finn Hudson,” the squire said abruptly, pulling Blaine out of his thoughts.

“I know who you are. Ku--the prince told me about you.” Not calling Kurt by his name was the one thing Blaine could never seem to do right. He could pretend he entertained nothing but platonic feelings and a devotion that was a result of his position as the prince’s sworn sword, but foregoing the use of Kurt’s name was nearly impossible for Blaine.

Finn hummed and breathed out loudly, almost as if he was nervous to be around Blaine, which made no sense because he could probably break Blaine in half with one hand. Blaine looked up - and up and up - at him and saw his brows were furrowed.

“Lord Stark--”

“You can call me Blaine.”

“Blaine, we were wondering, huh, if you don’t mind me asking--where did you get your direwolf?”

Blaine smiled and ruffled Snow’s fur, grinning when the wolf nibbled his hand. “I found him when he was just a pup. Well, in fact, it’s Kurt who found him. We were with our maester, going around the godswood so he could teach us about the plants growing there, and Kurt wandered off without a warning. He came back with Snow clutched to his chest and he begged the maester to let us keep it, but the man would hear nothing. Kurt--” Blaine chuckled at the memory of Kurt’s small body shaking with rage and indignation as Cooper and the maester had tried to pry the pup out of his hands. “--he threw a fit and in the end it was decided that he would be allowed to keep it.”

“So why’s it following you around?”

“The moment Kurt put it down, it ran up to me and wouldn’t leave my side. I think he still resents me for it.”

“You’re really close to the prince.” It was a statement, not a question, and it made Blaine’s stomach clench, a numbness spreading through his limbs as panic took over. The squire was known throughout the Keep for being somewhat dim-witted and if he figured out the nature of his relationship with Kurt, it meant everyone knew. It meant so many bad things Blaine could not even list them all.

“I--”

“I shouldn’t be surprised they let you be his sworn sword rather than me. He trusts you.”

“We grew up together. He is like a brother to me.”

Finn nodded and kicked a stone, looking forlorn with his shoulders hunched over and his head bowed low. “You’re not even a knight.”

“I cannot be a knight,” Blaine said calmly. His heartbeat was still racing from the flash of fear that had left him shaking with adrenaline. “Old gods.”

“Oh, you are right. That makes us nearly the same person, then.”

As Blaine looked up at the man, he wondered how exactly they were alike. Finn appeared to be the complete opposite of everything Blaine was; where he was rather short, Finn towered over everyone, and he was not even going to think about the differences between their lineages. He had a feeling Finn was lowborn from the way he seemed uneasy whenever highborns were around. He never seemed to know what to do with his body and his manners were rough and laborious.

“How is that?”

“I can never be a knight either. I had hoped that being the prince’s squire would help me along the way, but now there is no hope.”

“Aren’t you the king’s squire?”

Finn shrugged before hurrying to hold a door open for Blaine. The activity inside of the castle was even more hectic, servants and nobles alike hurrying down the hallways as they made last minute preparations. A swirl of blonde hair was the only warning Blaine got before Brittany took a hold of his arm and squeezed it, pulling him along.

“There you are! The prince is very upset that you are not there yet. He sent me looking for you. Hurry up!” Blaine sent one last look at Finn before letting the maidservant drag him towards the Great Hall. She stopped by a door Blaine had never seen before and turned to him, straightening his clothes and fixing his hair rapidly before pushing him towards the entrance. “Be strong.”

She smiled when Blaine sent her a questioning look and then she was gone. Blaine pushed open the heavy door and entered what turned out to be an antechamber. The King was sitting with the Hand at a table and they were discussing in a low voice while Kurt was pacing back and forth through the room, wringing his hands. The three men looked up when Blaine entered.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathed out, a forced smile breaking the nervous tension marring his face.

“Can we start, now?” The King asked roughly, frowning at Kurt.

“Yes.”

Blaine was the last one to enter the Great Hall and he walked up to stand behind Kurt’s seat, one hand on the pommel of his sword. The room fell quiet when the king entered, the only sounds sporadic coughs and short whispers mostly covered by the clatter of armours whenever the curious knights who suspended their afternoon training to see the show and the members of the Kingsguard move.

On the king’s command, the doors at the other end of the room open and everyone turned towards them to watch the entrance of the Lannisters. Blaine squeezed Kurt’s shoulder briefly and Kurt pressed his hand over Blaine’s before getting up to welcome the guests.

The queen-to-be came first, a dress of green silks tied at the waist by a golden ribbon flowing down her body as cascades of blonde curls covered her shoulders. One step behind her is a man, about Blaine’s age, he would guess, with a lion embroidered on his doublet. While their looks had nothing hinting at familial bonds, the way they held themselves screamed ‘siblings.’

“I didn’t know she had a brother,” Kurt said through his smile.

“He comes with the girl, I’ll find a way to keep him busy, he won’t be a problem,” the king replied. Blaine could only imagine how Kurt rolled his eyes at his father’s reply.

Behind the brother and sister came their escort, more than twenty knights coming to join the Kingsguard or the City Watch, each of them part of the Lannisters’ gift to the kingdom. Part of their daughter’s dowry, Blaine imagined. He dared not think about the lands that came with this alliance. There was little love lost between the two Houses, that much he knew.

They stopped and kneeled before the king, who gave a joyful laugh and urged them to get up. “You are almost family, now. You don’t have to kneel. My lady, my lord, welcome to King’s Landing!” Putting a hand on Lady Quinn’s shoulder, he called Kurt over and smiled at the pair. “My lady, may I introduce you to my son, Kurt. Kurt, this is Lady Quinn, your betrothed.”

Lady Quinn took a bow. “I am honoured to be your future wife, Your Grace,” she said in a calm voice. 

Kurt took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “The honour is mine.”

She smiled briefly and then turned to the man by her side. “May I introduce you to my brother, Lord Sebastian,” the man took a bow. “He came here with the wish to be helpful to the kingdom, in any way you will see fit, Your Grace.”

“Welcome to King’s Landing, my lord,” Kurt said. 

“I am at your service,” Lord Sebastian replied, a smile closer to a smirk blooming on his face. Blaine took a step closer, hand firmly wrapped around his sword’s grip. “I don’t think we have been introduced,” Lord Sebastian told him, eyeing the wolf on his doublet with the faintest of a quirk in his brow, which turned into a smile. And a wink.

“This is Lord Blaine Stark, from Winterfell. He is my sworn sword.”

“My lord, my lady,” Blaine said solemnly. 

As the king began ushering everyone away for the feast, Kurt held Blaine back for a second. “I do not trust this man,” he whispered. “Keep an eye on him for me.” Smiling at his betrothed, Kurt offered his arm. “My lady.”

Blaine watched them go and held back a sigh. 

“I am afraid I do not know the way.” Blaine turned and found Lord Sebastian smiling at him. “I hope you do not mind if I follow you.”

“Of course not,” Blaine replied. He led the way, unsure of what to say. “I hope you had a pleasant travel.”

“It was pleasant enough, if you enjoy sleeping in tents and shitting in the woods. I missed the comforts of a castle life. I am told this one is particularly sweet to live in?”

“It is, sure enough. The food is to die for.”

“Well, then, we better hurry to get to this feast. Sister!” he called when they caught up with Kurt and Lady Quinn. “Lord Stark here was just telling me how well fed we shall be in this estate. Surely, you will not miss home quite as much as you thought you would.” Lord Sebastian put his hand on Blaine’s shoulder and squeezed it, only offering a smile when Blaine glanced at him. 

While Lady Quinn rolled her eyes and corrected her brother’s words, saying that she did not fear she would miss Casterly Rock so much as she hoped to feel at home at King’s Landing, Kurt’s eye had narrowed at the sight of Lord Sebastian’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder. 

“I do not mean to be an impolite host, but if we do not hurry the feast will begin without us. Lord Lannister, if you don’t mind continuing this conversation later?”

“You can call me Sebastian, Your Grace. We are almost brothers.”

“Lord Lannister will do.” Kurt held Lord Sebastian’s eyes for a long time, his gaze cold and hard and unlike anything Blaine had ever seen. Lord Sebastian was the first to look away, letting out a chuckle and smiling that smirking smile of his. “Come, my lady. We have set aside a place at the table with my father and I for you, so that you may have a taste of the life to come before we are married.”

Blaine did not know what to make of Kurt’s animosity towards the newcomer.


End file.
